Alabaster
by May a Chance
Summary: After the events of (Leviticus 20:9), Spencer receives a visitor at the hospital that no one from his team was quite expecting. Alabaster isn't exactly what one would consider normal.
1. Chapter 1

The set of the fantasy film _The Way the Spirits Echoed_ was quiet, for the most part. The director had just yelled for silence and the cameras were up and running. The set had been designed as the bizarre home of an eccentric old man who offered the hero, Oliver Archer, and his best friend, Gawain Coastillon, shelter from a storm. Oliver's actor, a young man with curly auburn hair hanging around his face named Alabaster, ducked through a short doorway, staring around at the strange home. His face was slack with awe, a carefully crafted mask that seemed real, though Alabaster was sure that it was beyond fake to the people best at reading others.

Gawain's actor followed Alabaster, and the sidekick was played by an equally young man named Michael Washington. Michael had very dark, ruffled hair and dark eyes, his face a coppery tan. Like Alabaster, Michael gazed at the surrounding set as though he had never seen it before. The two actors were being shot in a medium close up, the camera close their faces as they exchanged slight grins.

As one of the most progressive films of that day and age, the two main characters were slowly falling in love over the course of the film. The camera slowly backed away from the two actors, and panned into a wide shot. Another camera, this over Alabaster's left shoulder, hovered in an almost ominous manner.

The two actors followed the final actor, Charles Fergusson, deeper into the house. Alabaster dragged a hand over the surface of a table, a bow slung over his shoulders and his clothes stuck to his skin with the (very real) rain that had been poured on them outside of the fake building.

"Come in, come in," Charles croaked out. The three actors had grown to be good friends as the long day had progressed, given that they'd been repeating the same scene since four that morning. Thank goodness for the small mercies, none of them needed all that much make up. "Would you like anything to drink? Perhaps a glass of warm water?"

Michael politely declined, but Alabaster accepted the offered mug. "Thank you," he said politely, his character playing the role of the unbelievably grateful guest. "I can't think of how we might repay you for this offering, but I can assure you that I am prepared to offer a day or so of service in return."

Charles waved him off. "Of course not dear boy, I know where you're off to."

There were more than a few eyebrows raised. "Really?" Michael asked, the scepticism thinly veiled beneath a coat of polite interest. In response, Charles clasped his hands together.

"Indeed I do. You're off to visit the Spirit's Yard."

Alabaster broke in before Michael could speak. "I like him. He knows what's going on." It was an earlier scene in the film, not even reaching the end of the first act, and the two heroes had just begun their journey to the Spirit's Yard, where they would consult the young spirit of a boy with special powers who had been murdered by the assassins of Aurum to prevent their whereabouts from being discovered.

The scene moved forth quickly from, ending with Alabaster and Michael relaxed on a soft couch, each one holding a hot cup of tea as they listened to Charles tell a story. Despite having heard the beginnings of the story a hundred times that day alone, both of the young actors were smiling real smiles when the director called for the scene end.

The woman clapped each actor on their shoulder, exclaiming cheerfully, "Great scene, guys! I think we can call it quits for the day if sound and visual are good. Take five."

Plopping into his chair, Alabaster pulled his phone from a pocket just in time to feel it buzz obscenely, a new text message popping up on the screen. He frowned at the message, before carefully clicking in a four digit password. The message popped up on his screen, displayed as being from an unknown number. Long fingers thumbed a reply after Alabaster read the words on the screen - _is this Alabaster Reid?_ A moment later, a new message popped in. _My name is Penelope Garcia, I'm with the FBI._ Alabaster's eyes shot into his hair, and he tapped out another message. The person on the other end soon replied with _You're the emergency contact of one of our agents._

And indeed he was. Younger than him by about nineteen minutes, Dr. Spencer Reid had joined the FBI at an atrociously young age, and had insisted that his highly intelligent older brother be his emergency contact. It made sense, given that Alabaster was a responsible young man and given that neither of their parents were prepared or able to be an emergency contact for either brother.

 _I am. What is this about?_ Alabaster thumbed, before sending off the message.

There was a long pause before Penelope answered. _Your brother, Dr. Spencer Reid, was kidnapped two days ago._

It was obvious that there was more to the message than that, but Alabster was faster as he thumbed out _And nobody thought to call me?!_

Penelope paused on the other end, and then a message popped up. _He's in good physical condition but we're unsure of his mental state thus far. We are at the Atlanta General Hospital._

Whilst impersonation of an FBI agent was technically illegal, Alabaster had to pause and wonder if this was just some sick joke and whether or not his brother was actually fine. But thinking about it, he hadn't gotten a call or letter from his brother in the past few days, and while he knew that the young agent was often busy with the cases he worked, he also knew that there was no way Spencer would not find time to at least send a quick text message.

Now worried, the young actor sent his brother a text. _Someone claiming to be FBI says that you were kidnapped. Please text me back. I'm worried._

For a minute - that seemed more like a century - the phone was silent before he received a text back. _Dr. Reid is unable to access his phone at this point in time. This is his supervisor, who is this?_

 _His brother you nitwit. Where's Spencer._

The person on the other end paused for a long minute, and Alabaster quickly called his brother's number. It rang twice before being picked up, and the voice that answered was most certainly not Spencer's. "This is Agent Hotchner with the FBI, answering on behalf of Dr. Reid." Alabster let out a sigh at the name. Hotchhner - his brother's boss and supervisor, and more notably to Alabster, the man who had kicked the crap out of his little brother during a hostage situation.

"Agent Hotchner, what's happened to my brother?"

"I'm sorry but I don't know who this is. Dr. Read has never mentioned any family aside from his mother." The man sounded stern and calm, like the perfect FBI agent that worked hard to save lives but never once showed an ounce of emotion at the sight of mangled bodies.

Alabster rolled his eyes. "Who do you think he visited after Lila Archer's case? Have your tech people look me up or something. It's Alabaster Reid, my permanent address is in Los Angelas and I'm currently in the city filming a movie." Across the room, the director was waving him over, and Alabaster held up a hand in a way that said _'Not now, I'm busy,'_ before returning to listening intently to the man on the other side. A minute later, Hotchner spoke again.

"Two days ago, Reid was kidnapped by a man named Tobias Hankel. Hankel suffered from dissociative identity disorder and switched to the personalities of his father Charles and the archangel Raphael. For those days, Reid was tortured psychologically and physically while being drugged with dilaudid, or drug store heroine." Hotchner inhaled a shaky breath, the first note of emotion he had allowed throughout the entire conversation. "We were able to pin down his location, but by the time we arrived your brother had killed Hankel in order to save himself. He's currently at Atlanta General Hospital and is asleep, but I'm sure he would appreciate having you here as soon as possible."

"Alright. We just finished up filming for the day. I can be there soon." Alabaster hung up and jogged over to the director; she shot him a nasty glare that soothed slightly when he made his way over.

"What was that about?"

Alabaster was talented at making long stories short, and thus he quickly explained that he would be needing at least a few days off because his brother had been kidnapped and subsequently tortured. Sarah Martingale blinked slowly but shrugged and agreed, saying that they'd film the remaining scenes that Oliver Archer was not in.

Within three hours, Alabaster was buying a ticket into Atlanta, and about seven hours after that arriving at the Atlanta General Hospital, greeted by a stern looking man in a suit, whose frown went far beyond evident. "I'm Agent Hotchner," he announced as he offered a hand to Alabaster. "I presume that you're Dr. Reid's brother."

A bobbing head came as reply as Alabaster slipped past the agent and into the hospital, calling over his shoulder, "Where is he?" The young man carefully avoided any actual contact with the agent, not even glancing over his shoulder as Alabaster made for the group of people that he recognized from a .jpeg image that Spencer had managed to send to him.

His quick glance confirmed the identities of almost all of the people - there was Jennifer Jareau, whom Spencer affectionately called JJ and treated like a best friend or older sister. Derek Morgan was large and imposing, but with his fingers twiddling in his lap he looked younger and less imposing. Jason Gideon was the only one Alabaster had met in person, and whilst he knew that the man wanted the best for his brother Alabaster had never taken to him. There was a large woman dressed in happy colours that didn't match her tear-streaked makeup, whose name Alabaster couldn't quite recall, and a black-haired woman that he was sure he had never seen before.

"Where's my brother," he greeted the group and each one glanced up. There were a series of confused glances and mutterings, which Alabaster normally appreciated but not on that particular day.

JJ stood, hovering a hand over Alabaster's shoulder and guiding him a few feet away. "He's asleep right now. We're waiting to be able to see him, but for now there's not much we can do. I promise that you can see him as soon as the rest of us can as well." Her voice was calming, and Alabaster understood why she made such an excellent media liaison.

About an hour later, Alabaster slipped into the semi-quiet hospital room. His brother, all auburn hair and bright eyes and chirping voice, lay in the bed with his eyes just barely open. The insistent beeping of the heart monitor was infuriating, but Alabaster did his best to ignore it as he made his way to Spencer's side. Carefully, he took one of Spencer's thin but gun-calloused hands into his own.

"Hey Spence," he said, and Spencer squeezed his hand back, head lolling to the side to look at Alabaster. "How are you feeling?" He knew the answer, of course. Exhausted, in pain, drugged up and in need of Jell-O, but he didn't say that.

As though his throat hurt too much to speak, Spencer squeezed a message onto Alabaster's hand in Morse code. _'Jell-O?'_

Alabaster laughed, squeezing Spencer's hand back gently. "I'll get you that. Just as soon as you actually feel up to it. Spencer fake glared back, and even though his twin was exhausted, Alabaster was quite sure Spencer wasn't quite ready to slip back to sleep.

* * *

 **I may or may not write more of this, I'm not really sure yet. I really want Alabaster ending up semi-famous after he finishes up this movie and then Spencer getting recognized on the streets during cases and stuff. I feel like it would be really cute and all of that.**


	2. Chapter 2

The case in Pittsburgh was shaping up to be a bad one. Two children exsanguinated about six days apart, found with their arms and legs tied to trees, their limbs cut off so that they remained just inches from the rest of the body. Based on the decomposition of the limbs, they were cut off post-mortem, which was a slight relief in the midst of a dark tragedy. At least these children hadn't suffered through losing both arms and both legs before their untimely deaths. On the chest of each child was a large symbol, a triskelion. On the stomach of the first child, the word _mortem_ was carved. The English translation for the Latin word was _death_ , and it told Reid only that their UnSub had access to the internet.

He let out an irritated snarl, glaring at the crime scene pictures. Next to him, JJ was also scowling, her long hair tied back in a tight pony tail. Reid rubbed a fist at one eye before turning back to revaluate the images. The first victim, an eight year old boy with black hair and dark eyes of Asian descent, had his eyes wide open, staring at the camera through a clouded cornea. His dark hair had been brushed over his forehead, smoothed.

Reid frowned, peering more closely at that particular image. He flickered his gaze towards another image, this of the marks on the boy's stomach. There was not a single hesitation mark in the triskelion and the cuts were clear, even if slightly jagged as though from a serrated knife. "JJ… Are you seeing this?" The blonde woman tipped her head at Reid, frowning through her coffee. "Marcus Yu's hair has been brushed across his forehead and he was wearing clean clothes despite having been kidnapped. But there are no hesitation marks on any of the cuts. That's a total turn around. An UnSub this violent wouldn't have brushed his hair."

"So we're dealing with multiple personalities or two UnSubs?" JJ asked, her voice clear and calm. Reid nodded in response.

Taking a long sip of his scalding hot coffee, Reid answered his coworker. "Most likely two UnSubs. While about one percent of the population suffers from dissociative identity disorder, about seventeen percent of these people are also being treated for substance abuse and are incapable of committing these crimes while in rehab. Interestingly enough, D-I-D is also more common in women with a ten to one ratio to men, while men are more likely to suffer from pathological dissociation. Aside from that, it's most common for a person suffering from D-I-D to have between eight and thirteen personalities."

JJ nodded, taking the information in stride. She was long since accustomed the spew of facts that left her colleague's mouth at a moment's notice.

An officer stuck his close-shaven head into the room. "Agents?" He asked, even though the two were obviously there. "We've got another one."

Reid let out a snarl, dragging himself to his feet and following the officer from the door, JJ just behind him.

Sitting in the SUV on the way to the scene, considering the varying possibilities in the case.

The crime scene was as gruesome as most were. It was like something out of a movie, not that Reid often watched movies but it _was_ amusing to point out all of the mistakes.

Splayed on his back, the most recent victim was nine year old Cameron Shull, whose smiling picture of what he looked like before being exsanguinated and chopped hung on the Victim Board at the local police station. He had blond hair – a few locks cut off to hang around his head on the ground – and now clouded brown eyes. All four of his limbs had been lobbed off, and each were placed some three inches, almost to the dot, from his abdomen. Reid knew that exsanguination was a painful way to go, but seeing as the children had been unconscious at the time, it was likely that pain was not the focus of these UnSubs.

He bent to examine the point where Cameron's left arm had been separated from his body. Years of dealing with dead bodies had left Reid jaded to seeing the blood and muscle tissue, but it was unusual to see how cleanly the bone was cut.

Hotch bent down next to him. "That's an evolution," the Unit Chief noted. "On the last victim he used a saw."

"They," Reid corrected softly. "Again, his hair's been brushed. An UnSub this violent wouldn't brush his hair after murdering him. We're looking at two UnSubs. Possibly even married; one is very maternal and the other is harsh."

The Unit Chief considered this for a minute, blatantly running through what had happened in his head. "I think you're right, Reid. I'm going to call Garcia." A hand slipped into the pocket of Hotch's blazer. He tapped in their technical analyst's number. There was a two second long buzz before there was a harsh click at the other end and a cheery voice came up:

"This is the FBI's office of Supreme Genius, how may I help you today."

"Garcia, we think we may be looking for a married couple. The husband would have been in prison recently for violent crimes- assault, gang violence, excetera. The wife's record is clear- probably of an average background and has led an average life."

"Got it," Garcia chirped. "I'll get back to you."

There was a second ferocious click at the other end and Garcia hung up.

Hotch let out a long sigh. "They haven't found any DNA or fingerprints yet, and there were no witnesses. That points to a level of organization that is common in ritualistic UnSubs."

The case took one of the FBI's most talented teams four days to close, and the murderous couple (Susan and Dennis Graham) were apprehended shortly after they kidnapped another child, whom Reid was sure they would keep for three days before her body would be dumped somewhere in Pittsburgh.

Once they finished everything up, Reid went for a stroll through the beautiful city as a method to soothe himself from the dead bodies he had seen in the past week. Late in the evening, the city was nearly silent, as since the jet wouldn't be taking off until midday or even early afternoon of the next day, Reid had plenty of time to wander the streets. There were people that Reid passed, for the most part light night diners and teenagers looking to have fun on the street. The rest of the BAU team was out at a pub with a few of the local cops, and while they had suggested that Reid come along he had politely turned down the offer in favour of wandering.

It was easy to get lost in such a large city but, after three days of pinning down the UnSubs' comfort zone, Reid knew his way around Pittsburgh.

Perhaps a half hour into his meandering, Reid was approached by a woman in her mid-twenties, in appearance, who carried a piece of paper and a pen. Reid eyed her warily.

She paused in front of him and Reid stopped to gaze at her blankly. After a minute he said, "Can I help you?" and the woman nodded enthusiastically.

"Are you Alabaster Reid, the actor?" Her voice was filled with a great deal of hope.

Reid let out a long suffering sigh. "While I would _love_ to say that my idiot brother is with me, no I am not Alabaster and rather his twin brother. Please shove of, I'm not signing anything for him. Forgery is illegal."

He brushed past her and the woman called after him, "You don't have a brother. I've been all over your Wikipedia article and I've done my research and I am your biggest fan."

Reid let out another sigh, this one longer and more irritated. "I am not Alabaster. Please shove of." He continued walking, the warm light from the streetlamps guiding his way.

The woman trotted after him so that she walked by his side, short legs trying to keep up with his longer ones. Reid increased his pace.

"Please," she begged, "I've seen all of your movies and I absolutely loved _The Way the Spirits Echoed_ and I thought that _Calling Kathy_ was absolutely amazing even though it was your first film and you definitely deserved an Oscar for your role as Mark in _Sealing Fate_ and you just have to give me that autograph I'll go mad if you don't!"

Reid turned to her and sighed once more. "What's your name?" His voice was now sated, playing the role of his twin brother who hated fans following him.

The woman brightened and Reid internally rolled his eyes. "Marcy Breckenridge," she replied.

"Well, Marcy," Reid announced calmly. "If you continue to follow me I will report you to the police for harassment." He turned, and walked away from the annoying woman. At about twenty feet away from her, he murmured to himself, "God I hate Alabaster's fans."


End file.
